Legendary
by honeymoonlights
Summary: For SpookyOQ 2019. / Set in late 1800s New Orleans. There's something odd about Regina's new betrothed, and she has every intention of figuring out what that something is.


The mud caking the bottom of Regina's dress quickly accumulates as she treks further into the cemetery. The air is thick with moisture, and heavy grey clouds block out the moonlight above her. They'll give soon, and she would do best to make this trip brief lest she make it back home thoroughly rain-soaked.

She pays the mud and the rainclouds little mind though as she inspects the engravings on each tombstone she passes. _Thomas, Blanchar, Letissier, Dupont_… She's a ball of nerves as she reads through each departed name, not sure what to feel when they don't match what she's looking for. And even less sure of how she'll feel if she _does_ find what she's looking for.

_This is silly_, a small voice inside her chastises. It's persistent — it's been present from the very moment she met Robin Locksley, doing its best to soothe her worries and shut down her growing suspicions. Insisting her nerves are nothing but the result of cold feet, nothing more.

However persistent it may be though, it's gotten quieter in light of recent revelations.

It's not that she believes Mr. Locksley to be a bad man, not exactly. But something about him sets Regina on edge (and that, in turn, has awoken an intrigue that feels impossible to quell).

She's hardly the only one obsessing over this man. He'd caused a lot of talk when he first stepped onto the New Orleans social scene three months before. Originally from London before crossing the Atlantic to settle in New York, he had arrived here from up north with an impressive amount of money to his name and a desire for a wife. He'd taken up residence in a manor not far from her own, saying it had been owned by distant relatives of his for years, and had immediately begun his search for a companion — and the eligible ladies in his circles had been all too willing to comply.

He's handsome, successful, charming — a dream of a prospect for every young woman Regina's age. And to her surprise, she seemed to be exactly what he had been looking for.

She remembers the first night she met him with vivid clarity: his stunning blue eyes locking with hers as she'd entered the ballroom; the soft tenor of his voice as he introduced himself to her parents, charming them both almost immediately; the unexpected chill of his hand through her glove as it took gentle hold of hers and brought it to his lips.

Though the memory was clear as day, her thoughts had been hazy that entire night. Mainly it had been by the surprise — she didn't exactly have a long line of suitors asking for her hand.

Admittedly, that was in great part her own doing. Though she's been longing for the day she could escape the stifling grip of her mother's control, she knows better than to make any rash decisions. She has no interest in trading her current cage for a new one. And so, she's made sure to leave every potential suitor she's been unimpressed by feeling even less impressed themselves (much to her mother's dismay).

But Robin Locksley had been different. He'd charmed Regina into conversation with an ease she'd never experienced, and much to her pleasant surprise, he'd listened aptly to every word that left her lips. She didn't feel the need to censor her words nearly as much as she usually does, and thankfully, he seemed to have no qualms with her honesty as she admitted she didn't hold much enjoyment for these balls. That her preferred pastimes involved the quietness of her room with a good book, or lending her attentions to her horse Rocinante. He had seemed rather pleased with her answers, his dimpled smile never leaving as he'd fired off questions to keep her talking.

The candidness had been refreshing, as was having someone being interested in her for something other than what her name could offer them amongst society. Robin hadn't been put off by her sass, had met every quip with wit of his own, and the feeling of finally being listened to had given her a pleasant rush that had nothing to do with the wine being served — but was just as intoxicating.

But the night had fallen just short of perfect. As charming as Mr. Locksley was, he'd answered her own round of questions with a vagueness that had left her feeling a bit unsatisfied, and the chill of his touch on her waist as they danced prompted a swirl of unease in her belly that has yet to fully settle even now.

Rather than being put off by these things however, they had sparked an intrigue. One that had her oddly preoccupied with Mr. Locksley's every move. And one that currently has Regina traipsing through a muddy graveyard late in the night looking for answers to her convoluted puzzle.

There's the little things: he doesn't eat — every dinner they've spent together, she's watched him expertly move his fork through his small portion of food to make it seem touched, and never once does he raise the fork to his lips. He politely turns down appetizers offered to him. The most Regina's ever seen Robin put into his system is a sip of red wine from a glass he mostly nurses throughout the night.

Feeling bold, Regina had asked him about his lack of appetite one night. He'd given her a playful smirk, as if enjoying a private joke she wasn't in on, and told her, "I prefer my steak just a touch more rare."

He also doesn't venture out of his home during the day — any and all socializing is done after sundown, either at balls, during dinners, or down at the local bar. Her father had been the one to point this one out to her, mentioning idly how odd it was that he never seemed to run into the man during the day. Her mother had caught on as well, feeling indignant at rejected lunch invitations, and only somewhat placated by Mr. Locksley's smooth proposals that he join them for dinner instead.

It was strange — that much Regina was certain of. But she's always had an overactive imagination. Mary Margaret had been quick to point that out one night when Regina couldn't resist mentioning the oddities of her new suitor.

"You sound like Ruby when we were ten, going on and on with her ghost stories and werewolf lore."

"Not a werewolf…," Regina had hedged, avoiding Mary Margaret's stare.

"Right, a vampire," Mary Margaret had corrected sarcastically. "Much more realistic."

Regina had started at the word. "I didn't say that either," she'd pointed out.

At that Mary Margaret had raised a knowing eyebrow. "But you were thinking it."

She was right, sort of. Though Regina had been avoiding the exact word, her thoughts had inevitably found themselves going back to those very stories and lore they would tell each other as young girls, despite the rational part of her ridiculing that trail of thought. She'd agreed, reluctantly, that her suspicions were childish and impossible. But that didn't stop her gut reaction from insisting there was something _off_ whenever Mr. Locksley was near.

And so in silent, she continued observing him, and saying nothing more of her suspicions. Watching him stealthily give his food to the dog during dinners, and noting the way he smoothly dodged her questions about his past, about his family, his former homes. She didn't mention the chill of his fingers as she shyly slipped hers through them, and she walked past his manor during the bright, sunny days and endlessly wondered how he spent his mornings and afternoons secluded in his big, empty house (was he sleeping? was he lonely?).

Then Keith Nottingham happened.

It had been just after sundown, and Regina was running late. She could practically hear her mother already, livid at the thought of her daughter being out at that time of night on her own. But she wasn't far. Just two more blocks, if she cut through this alleyway…

"What's the rush, Miss Mills?" a voice had cut through the silence. To her left, she saw Keith Nottingham appear from the shadows of the alley, his gaze trailing up and down her figure in a way that gave her goosebumps.

"Just trying to get home for dinner, Mr. Nottingham," she'd answered brusquely, backing out of the entry to alley and out onto the sidewalk. She'd looked uneasily around for anyone who could help, but alas, this particular street was abandoned for the time being, as dinnertime got started.

One look back at Mr. Nottingham had showed he too was well aware they were alone. And whatever he decided to do about that, Regina knew her word against the word of the Sheriff's son be of no use.

Mr. Nottingham had grinned at her. "How about I walk you there, darlin'? It's not good for a young lady to be out on her own." He'd stepped closer to her, his grin widening as she instinctively backed away. He'd grabbed hold of her upper arm as he told her, "We'll take this shortcut…"

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Nottingham," she'd told him forcefully, attempting to pull her arm out of his hold. But he was stronger, and his grip had tightened as he pulled her to his side and brought his arm around her shoulders.

"No need to be nervous, Miss Mills," he'd said, easily overpowering her attempts to break away from him as he walked them into the alleyway. "I'll take good care of you…"

"I believe she said that wasn't necessary," a familiar voice had said behind them.

Though Mr. Nottingham had made no move to loosen his hold her shoulders, a wave of relief still poured in Regina's stomach as she'd turned her head to see Robin standing on the sidewalk.

"Mr. Locksley," she'd breathed, trying again to rip herself away from Mr. Nottingham's side. She'd almost managed, but the man was quick to grab a hold of her arm again before she could get out of his reach.

At that, Robin had silently stepped forward, ignoring Mr. Nottingham's forceful assurances that Robin not worry himself with Nottingham's intentions of walking Regina home. He'd held out a hand that Regina gratefully took without a second thought, and it had been only then that Mr. Nottingham released his hold on her arm.

"Your chivalry is appreciated," Robin had said wryly, "but you needn't worry yourself. I'll take the lady home, if she'll have me?"

"Yes." Regina had smiled brilliantly at him, hooking her hand around his elbow. "Much appreciated, Mr. Locksley." Without a further glance back at Mr. Nottingham, they'd both made their way back onto the sidewalk and quickened their pace.

"Do you make a habit of wandering dark alleys in the evenings?" he'd quipped.

Bristling, she'd answered coolly, "I had the situation under control."

Rather than call out her rather blatant lie, he'd replied with, "Y'know, a simple thank you would suffice."

Regina had rolled her eyes, but tightened her grip on his arm. "This is the earliest I've ever seen you out," she'd changed the subject.

"What do you mean?" he'd asked, sounding genuinely confused.

She'd side-eyed him at the question. "I don't usually see you out until well after dinnertime."

"We've spent plenty of dinners together, m'lady," he'd pointed out, but it did nothing to deter her.

"They're all _late_ dinners. As per your request."

Robin had turned his head to look at her then. Regina had returned his stare, worrying briefly if she'd made a mistake in voicing her observation. She'd banished the thought immediately. Whatever Mr. Locksley's secrets were, she knew with a strange certainty that he had no intentions of hurting her.

_Intentions aside_, a still panic-ridden part of her had whispered when he'd turned away without a response, _it's still best to not provoke him_.

After a few moments of walking in silence, he'd mumbled, "I suppose I'll have to brave the evenings for m'lady from now on."

She'd quirked an eyebrow in response, but any further conversation on the matter had been halted by her father's voice coming from their porch. She'd startled, not having realized they'd already made it home.

"Regina!" her father had sighed, in both parts relief and exaggeration.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she'd been quick to apologize. "My dress fitting ran later than expected." She'd glanced at Robin and added, "And I ran into Mr. Locksley on the way back." She'd stared meaningfully at him, hoping he wouldn't mention what had happened with Mr. Nottingham.

"It was fortunate," Robin had told her father. "It's not very safe to be walking home alone this late in the evening." He'd smiled innocently at her, and she couldn't resist rolling her eyes. Thankfully, he'd said nothing more on the matter.

Her father had thanked him for walking her home, inviting him to stay for the dinner that had been delayed waiting for Regina's return. But Robin had politely declined, saying he'd eaten early — a claim that she couldn't help raising a dubious eyebrow at.

Saying their goodbyes, Regina had started up the porch steps, but hung back as her father disappeared inside. Taking hold of his hand, she'd looked him in the eye and told him seriously, "Thank you."

He'd brought her hand to his lips, and she'd shivered. "Have a good night, m'lady."

Butterflies had swarmed in her belly for the rest of that night, and woke up bright and early with her the following day. But they'd been promptly replaced by a heavy weight by the time breakfast was finished, when news had reached her father that the sheriff's son had been found dead in an alley early that morning.

"He had two bloody puncture wounds on his neck, but no other injuries," she'd heard Mr. Blanchard tell her father in the parlor. Regina's heartbeat had picked up in response, and she'd forced her breath to steady as she'd eavesdropped for more information. Apparently a quick inspection had showed Mr. Nottingham still had most of his valuables, save for a golden pocket watch that had been a family heirloom.

"I'll give my respects to the sheriff later today," her father had said, and Regina had held her tongue, knowing it was best to forget the incident from the night before and move on. And so she did.

Or, she tried to anyway. She'd made no comment of Mr. Nottingham's death aside from a petty, "It was for the best," when Robin had casually brought up what a shame it had been. The corner of his lips had quirked at her response, but he'd easily let the subject drop. Idly, Regina had wondered if he was relieved she had no desire to speak on it.

Truthfully, despite her suspicions, she had found she couldn't wrap her head around the idea of Robin actually hurting anyone. So it had been easy in the following days to shy away from the thought, especially since she had no concrete evidence to condemn him. Not at the time, anyway.

But then had come his proposal earlier tonight. She'd known it was coming eventually, and vaguely, she'd known she would say yes. But then the moment she had, the moment she'd felt the weight of the engagement ring being slipped onto her finger, she'd been overcome by a wave of anxiety over it all.

She had too many questions, too strong suspicions. And she couldn't marry him until she had answers.

She'd politely excused herself to the powder room once the initial commotion of the proposal had died down. Mary Margaret had given her a confused — and slightly exasperated — look as Regina had left Robin's dining room. Instead of walking towards the bathroom downstairs however, she'd made a sharp turn towards the stairs and hastily made her way up to the second floor of his manor.

She'd never been in this area of his house, but she moved quickly down the hallway until she reached what she assumed was the master bedroom. The door was closed, but thankfully not locked, and she went inside without a second thought to how inappropriate she was being.

She'd stood in the middle of the bedroom, unsure where to start. The room had an odd feeling of not being lived in, and she'd noted the tightly made bed with the idle question of whether or not he actually slept here. And if she'd find a darker form of sleeping arrangement if she'd had more time to further explore his house.

Aimlessly, she'd looked through the drawers of his dresser, a blush creeping up her cheeks as she found items of clothing and realized he did use this room for something, even if it was just getting ready for the day — or night. Finding nothing in his dresser, she'd moved on to his night stand, and then the bottom drawers of his wardrobe. Snooping through the final drawer, she was just about to give up when something shiny caught her eye.

Mr. Nottingham's pocket watch.

The same watch now sits heavily in her dress pocket (right next to a pocket knife and a sharpened piece of wood) as she continues her search through the dark cemetery. She straightens up when she finally finds a name relevant to her search: Little, the name of Robin's supposed distant relatives that had owned the manor he currently lives in. The tombs are simple, but well-kept, and she reads through the names of the family plots: John Little, father, husband, grandfather; Sarah Little, mother, wife, grandmother; a son named after his father who'd passed away not too long ago.

Regina starts at the next tombstone, which is not a part of the Little family name. It's Roland Locksley, born in 1803 and died in 1876. Regina's heartbeat picks up as she continues on to the next name: Marian Locksley, born in 1775 and died in 1834.

Regina knows the next name before she reads it.

_Robin Locksley_  
_Beloved husband, father, leader, and friend_  
_1774 - 1804_

He died at thirty years old — eighty-five years ago.

Regina can hear the loud pounding of her heart in her ears, drowning out her heavy breathing. Distantly, she hears the sky above her roar with a bout of thunder but it barely registers.

"It'll rain soon," an all-too familiar voice says from behind her.

Regina whips around, breathless as she meets those familiar blue eyes. "Mr. Lock—Robin," she croaks, but she doesn't know what more to say.

Robin smiles ruefully at her. "I had a feeling you suspected," he told her. "I didn't think I was being too obvious, but you are far more perceptive than I'd originally thought." He stands not too far from her, but further than she's used to having him. He makes no move to come closer as he continues, "Still, I thought I'd have more time to ease you into the truth."

"You killed Mr. Nottingham," Regina says shakily. She doesn't dare break their stare, and neither does he as he nods wordlessly.

"Might I ask why you decided to investigate the cemetery alone in the middle of the night?" he asks, clearly thinking back to the alleyway incident.

Regina steadies her breath before answering, much more calm than before, "I came prepared." Her hand finds its way into her dress pocket, fiddling with her makeshift stake for a moment before letting it settle on the pocket watch instead. Derisively, she adds, "And Mary Margaret didn't believe my suspicions."

Robin's dimples peak out at the tight smile he gives her, and her heart starts pounding for other reasons. "Well that's a relief."

"What are you?" Regina asks.

Robin arches an eyebrow. "I believe you know the answer to that."

"A vampire." The word startles her just as much as it had when it had fallen from Mary Margaret's lips weeks before. It's the first time Regina has said it aloud, but she feels oddly lighter once it's finally out. Robin neither confirms nor denies the word — and she decides that's confirmation in itself.

"Have you killed any more?" Regina can't help asking.

Robin's face grows somber at question. "The serial killer that had been on the loose when I'd first arrived. A few men with similar hobbies as Mr. Nottingham. And Ms. DeVille, who'd been mistreating her servants and skinning puppies on the side."

Regina grimaces, but clarifies, "Only criminals?"

"A man's gotta eat."

At this she nods, her heartbeat calming at these revelations. "Do you plan to eat me?" she asks, though she knows the answer already. She feels a slight pang of guilt as she watches his eyes widen in shock.

"Never," he asserts. Then he hesitates, and she raises an eyebrow in question.

Robin sighs. "I'd meant to take the time to ease into all of this. I hadn't imagined you would jump so quickly to lore theories." His dimples peak back at his small tease.

"My father says I have good intuition," she boasts. She smiles back this time as his own grin widens. The pounding of her heart has lightened to flutters by now.

"You're taking this rather well," he notes, taking a small step closer to her. She thinks of the small wooden stake in her pocket, and decides it's best not to mention its existence.

"You only go after bad people," she states again, and at his nod she adds, "And you don't plan on hurting me?" Again, he hesitates, and this has her tensing once more.

"I have… a proposal for you," he starts.

When he doesn't continue, Regina remarks, "I thought the proposal was already given earlier tonight." Her hand leaves her pocket to run her fingers absently over her new engagement ring.

"That's part of it," Robin hedges. Then he sighs. "This life… it gets to be rather lonely when you don't have someone else like you. I told you, I came here to find a companion. Someone to love, who would hopefully love me back. Someone willing to join me in this world of immortality."

Regina blinks. For all of her suspicions of his intentions, she hadn't once considered that. "You want to… turn me?"

"Only if you wish," he clarifies. "I know this has all fallen out of my control. But I care for you, Regina. If you're interested, I think we'd be a good match."

"As your vampire lover?" She weighs over the idea, surprised to not be the slightest bit repelled by it.

"You told me you wish for freedom," he says carefully. "This could give you exactly that. If you don't mind having me by your side."

The corners of Regina's lips twitch up as she fights a smile. "I think the ring on my finger already shows I don't mind having you around all that much."

Robin grins in response, a further closes the space between them. He moves his hands to rest on her hips, relaxing when she moves her own to settle on his chest. "So what do you say, m'lady? Are you ready for a new adventure?"

She looks into his eyes for a moment before nodding. "I think I am." She watches his smile widen to show his white teeth.

And she tenses in anticipation as he lowers his face to drop a soft, icy kiss on her cheek before moving his mouth to the pulse on her neck.


End file.
